


How to Win Friends and Influence Rangers

by TheoMiller



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Gen, female rangers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:52:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheoMiller/pseuds/TheoMiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Crowley's bright ideas has completely changed the Rangers work (or how Rosabel Stalon got the life she always wanted because of a man's crush on a feminist).</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Win Friends and Influence Rangers

Pauline was not a new part of Rosabel’s life. She’d been coming around for dinners for as long as she and Halt had had an epic romance brewing – which is to say always. So she knew quite well that the gangly blonde who was Gilan’s dorky little sister, and that the dream was to be a Ranger like her big brother.

She also knew that Gilan had taught Rosabel many things on his visits home, and that having a knight for a doting father was an excellent way for a young girl to pick up things that would have made Pauline’s mother wail about proper conduct for a lady. So it came as little surprise to her when Rosabel and her foster sister – a ward David had taken in when her father, one of his comrades, died in battle – approached her shortly before the older one (Crissa, the ward) turned sixteen.

“We want to become Rangers,” Crissa had said firmly, and Pauline went to Crowley.

-

A year later (Rosabel had made a speech about unfair treatment based on arbitrary gender norms that basically amounted to “if we were boys you would have let us in nine months ago” to speed things up) they were standing in the well-kept lawn of an old castle.

“It’s old,” Rosabel said, “At least four centuries. See that arch? No way it got that mossy since we rediscovered how to make them. Well-built too, if it’s still here.”

“Yeah, but the wooden braces on the walls and around the windows are new. Brand new. They just renovated this place,” Crissa added.

An amused, lilting voice joined in, “It’s an old keep from when Araluen was first being civilized. See how it’s easily defensible and built to survive heavy attacks, but has little space for commoners to go to ground? It was a permanent military outpost.”

“Huh,” Rosabel said. “So it is. You must be another apprentice.”

The girl was wiry with short, dark brown hair and warm brown eyes. Behind her was a tall girl with wild red hair and a dusting of freckles under green eyes. “Must be,” agreed the first girl. “I’m Elizabeth Llewellyn, Will Treaty’s apprentice. This is Adrianne Finnegan; she’s Gilan’s apprentice.”

“I’m Rosabel Stalon and this is Crissa Bruce – we’re Gilan’s sisters. Halt is my mentor, Jonathan is hers.”

Elizabeth cast her gaze over Crissa and Rosabel, obviously taking in Rosabel’s fair hair and moss green eyes and Crissa’s brown hair and mahogany-tint eyes. “Sisters, huh?”

“Foster sisters,” Crissa explained.

“Where are the other apprentices, do you reckon?” Adrianne said.

Crissa scrunched up her nose. “Yeah, and where are the mentors?”

“Oh, no, don’t say that,” Rosabel groaned. She’d been around Rangers since she was an infant and knew well their penchant for the dramatic. “They’ll ghost out of the trees, startle us, and say something witty.”

“Such a spoilsport, Rosabel,” Will said, appearing seemingly out of thin air beside them.

She threw her hands into the air. “And you did it anyway! Ugh. I’m going to go say hi to Tug – he’s in the stables, right? – so tell Halt where I am when he finally gets here. And tell him he’s a slowpoke.” She trudged off across the grass as Crissa proceeded to asked Will how Alyss was.

“Hey there,” A low, feminine voice was saying, barely audible as she approached.

Rosabel leaned into the stables to watch the girl – who looked about her age, albeit taller – stroke Tug’s nose while talking. The horse whinnied softly and nuzzled up to her, and seemed to be quite content. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Ranger horse warm up to anybody that quickly.”

“Oh!” The girl spun around quickly. She was stunningly pretty, with wide blue eyes and loosely tied back mousy hair. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there! You must be one of the Ranger girls. I’m Isolde; I’m apprentice to Eugene, one of the best battlehorse trainers in Araluen. He’s _brilliant_.”

Fighting the blush that threatened to bloom on her cheeks – _damn_ her inability to speak to pretty people – Rosabel cast about for something clever to say. “So, we get four knights, five Rangers, and a battlehorse trainer? Not bad. We’ll be saving the land in no time.”

“Maybe,” She said.

“I’m Rosabel, by the way.” Rosabel could’ve kicked herself for forgetting to introduce herself. “I’m, um, Halt’s apprentice, Gilan’s sister?”

“I’ve heard of Halt – who hasn’t? – but I’ve only met Gilan,” Isolde said.

“Well, that’s my big brother.”

The other girl nodded slowly. “He doesn’t look much like you. Well, besides the hair. And eyes. And freckles.”

“So, basically everything?” Rosabel said, deadpan.

“No! I mean, his nose is longer. And you have a lot more hair. No offence!” Isolde was blushing furiously now, and Rosabel took pity on her.

“Relax, Isolde. No offence taken whatsoever. I have _tons_ of hair. Like, line up all the bald men in the kingdom, and I’ll make them all wigs. It’s past my hips when it’s wet, ‘cause it straightens out, and it’s so _thick_. I have to keep it long, or else it’d puff out like a mushroom cap.”

Isolde laughed. “That’s a vivid image.”

“Are you going to gossip like old women or come inside?” Halt interrupted them.

Rosabel made a face at him, then reached back to wrap her fingers around Isolde’s wrist. “Come on, let’s go – I bet they’ll have coffee inside!”

“I don’t _like_ coffee,” complained Isolde, but came along anyway. She didn’t pull her arm out of Rosabel’s grasp until they were at the door. “It’s too bitter.”

“We can fix that,” Gilan and Rosabel said at the same time, grinning wickedly.

“Halt, we have a possible convert!” Rosabel called after her mentor.

Elizabeth, who was running her fingers over the worn stone in the great hall, rolled her eyes. “The Lady Pauline was not exaggerating about the necessity of coffee to this apprenticeship, I see. Ranger Will, what wood did they choose for the reinforcements?”

“’Ranger Will’,” Gilan repeated, snickering.

“Sorry, sir, do you prefer Ranger Treaty?” Elizabeth asked a blushing Will politely.

Will’s ears and neck were red by now. “I – uh. Will is fine, Elizabeth.”

“Yes sir,” She answered.

Rosabel glanced at Adrianne and then Isolde, who each shrugged, and then rapped her knuckles on a beam. “What wood is this?”

“Oak,” Gilan said. “It’s the strongest wood. Why?”

Elizabeth waved him off. “It’s nothing. I was just wondering, because—”

The door opened then, and a gaggle of people poured in. Five of them, including a very tall blonde girl, were clearly knights – they also included Horace, who looked uncharacteristically annoyed – and another boy clad in Ranger gear.

“Tristan, get out of the _way_ ,” Horace grumbled, and a boy with spiky brown hair leapt back to let him through. “Will!” He said, and dragged the Ranger into a bear hug that looked like it might crush a few ribs. “Good to see you. Gilan, Rosabel, you too. Where are Crissa and Halt?”

“Uh, the kitchen, with Agravaine and Jonathan,” Rosabel said. “I think so, anyway. Halt had his ‘where’s my coffee’ look. We were headed down there anyway, provided I can actually find it, ‘cause Isolde reckons coffee is too bitter. I’ll follow the smell of coffee, I suppose.”

It turned out that navigation by scent wasn’t necessary, because the kitchen was just off the corridor, and the hum of conversation was easily audible with the heavy wooden doors stood open. Rosabel filed in behind Tristan, Isolde close behind her, and made a beeline for the honey. She spooned it into one of the tumblers of coffee and stirred it, before handing it over to Isolde. “Try it.”

“Where do you get your honey, sir?” Elizabeth asked Will.

Will shrugged. “Locals, mostly.”

“Huh,” She said, sniffing it. “I’ve just never seen this kind of jar before. My parents were—”

“This isn’t bad,” Isolde admitted.

“See?” Rosabel said.

“Coffee is sort of mandatory for Rangers, though I’m told there are those who don’t like honey in theirs,” Gilan dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper. “Like _Jonathan_.”

“I prefer tea,” Elizabeth said.

They all stared at her. “But… Coffee!” Will said, gesturing helplessly at the bag of dark powder.

“I’m aware, sir,” She said, “But I was raised on tea. Would you prefer if I switched to coffee, sir?”

“What? No. What?”

Elizabeth offered a pleasant smile and rolled her eyes as soon as he turned his back to give Gilan a confusedlook. “What’s the herb situation in this place, anyway?”

“Just basic healing salves and flavourings,” Agravaine, who was a decent looking man with an aquiline nose, said.

She tilted her head, still staring at the rows of herbs, and then nodded. “Excellent. I’m a decent cook. Are we to split the cooking duties?” She added.

“All of you will learn how to cook,” Halt said.

The blonde knight girl stretched. “Can we take the tour thing now? I need to find a bed. Riding is _hard_.”

“Only if you’re sitting incorrectly on the saddle,” Isolde said.

Halt rolled his eyes. “Alright, you lazy lot, let’s go.”

First he led them back down to the other side of the great hall, where a large room was focused around a huge fireplace. “This is the common room. When you’re not out there proving you’re not a bunch of totally incompetent idiots or doing chores, you can lounge about in here. But don’t stay too long, or you’ll grow soft like Will.” He added, eyebrow arching slightly.

“That’s a joke,” Gilan said. “Will barely gets to sit down between Alyss and Halt bossing him about. Me, I’m not married. I’m a free spirit.”

“Only ‘cause Jenny won’t say yes until you two have a date that doesn’t end in bloodshed,” said Rosabel, and Crissa snorted.

“I like you,” Elizabeth said musingly, eyeing Rosabel. “Too bad I’m going to be a far better Ranger than you,” She added with a smirk.

Rosabel inclined her head. “I accept your challenge.”

“Now that we’ve covered that,” The boy Ranger said – Maximillian, Will had called him – but grinned nonetheless. “Where do you keep the weapons?”

“We have an internal practice room for when even Halt isn’t cruel enough to send you outside,” Will said. “They’re in the back of that room. Come on, that’s the next place.”

For an indoor archery range and dummy room, it wasn’t half bad, Rosabel thought. She lifted one of the wooden sword practice batons and made a few cautious swipes with it. She’d been taught by the same tutor as Gilan, but since her dream of becoming a Ranger had started to seem realistic about a year ago, she hadn’t practiced much.

“Not bad,” One of the knight apprentices said, his expression mostly unreadable but for what appeared to be outright dislike for her. Rosabel scrunched up her nose and looked away, lowering the baton.

A shorter one elbowed him. “Come on, Kori, she’s a Ranger and she’s using perfect form. You have to give her some credit.”

Rosabel offered the second boy a smile before putting down the practice sword and heading over to where Crissa and Adrianne were admiring a recurve bow. “Composite wood with a hemp string – very well made. I’ve always admired Rangers’ bows,” Adrianne was saying.

“Where’d you learn all that?” Rosabel asked.

“My dad hunts,” She said. “He’s a yeoman. We’ve got a tiny family farm a few fiefs north of here with a copse of trees where deer love to graze.”

“My father wouldn’t let me go on a boar hunt with him when I was fourteen, so Crissie and I climbed a tree and watched from above,” Rosabel admitted, “It’s the only time I’ve ever seen hunting.”

“Alright, weapons down, let’s go see the bedrooms,” Halt called.

The tall girl knight bounced over to Rosabel and the other girls. “Hi! I’m Annabel. Horace says I’m going to sleep in the girls’ room with you five. My mum made him promise, too, ‘cause she says she’s sending me off to learn to be a knight, not to get a husband, which is ridiculous, I don’t want to get married yet, unless I fall in love.”

“Uh,” Crissa said.

“I’m Elizabeth. The redhead Adrianne, the short one is Crissa, the blonde is Rosabel, and the tall one is Isolde.”

Crissa scowled. “Hey! I’m not _short_.”

“You’re tiny,” Rosabel scoffed. “You haven’t grown since we were twelve. Ooh, bunkbeds!” She gasped, as Gilan led the girls into a room on the left.

“And you haven’t changed since you were twelve,” Gilan grinned.

Rosabel and Crissa exchanged glances, then looked at the beds, then back at each other. “Gilan, pick a number between one and ten!” Rosabel ordered.

“Got it,” He said. “Crissa?”

“Three.”

Rosabel glanced at him. “Seven.”

“It was six,” He admitted.

“Ha!” Rosabel punched the air and scrambled up the ladder into the top bunk. “Dibs.”

Elizabeth arched her eyebrows as she, too, claimed a top bunk over Adrianne. “You wanted the top bunk?”

“Top bunks are great.”

“Yeah, until you’re climbing out of bed at dawn to go train with sore muscles,” Adrianne scoffed.

Rosabel made a face at her. “Yeah, well, I can hide under the bedclothes if someone breaks in, and I have a vantage point. So _there_.”

“If a Kalkara walked in, you’d be right at eye level,” Crissa piped back up.

“The Kalkara are dead,” said Gilan, “And you should all be very grateful for that, because it took two of the best Rangers and two very good knights to stop the last ones. You may be the brightest young women in all of Araluen, but even you aren’t up for that yet.”

Rosabel shot him a mulish look. “Will was my age when he killed one. And he used brains, not brawn, and I have a lot of those. Brains, I mean. Not brawn. I’m not a knight apprentice for a reason. No offence, Annabel.”

“None taken until you said that,” Annabel said, but grinned.

Isolde crawled onto one of the beds. “I don’t feel so well.”

Elizabeth dropped from the top of her bed and landed lightly. “Can you describe your symptoms for me?” She asked in a firm but gentle voice.

“I’m dizzy and tired. I think I’m going to be ill. And my eyes… it’s all blurry.”

“Do you have a headache?” Elizabeth was leaning over her. “Your breathing is irregular. Can you take deep breaths for me?”

“No – no headache,” She mumbled.

“What are you—” Gilan began, but Elizabeth cut him off. “Shut up and fetch Halt if you want to be useful. She’s ill, and it came on suddenly. That’s _never_ a good sign.”

Gilan turned on his heel and left, presumably to find Halt. Isolde’s eyes were shut, long lashes brushing against pale cheekbones. She looked – well. Rosabel took a deep breath and stepped forward. “How do I help?” She asked.

“You stay. Annabel, go out into the hallway. Keep gawkers out of the room. I don’t want anyone but me and Halt to approach her, do you understand? Crissa, go find the coffee and the honey and bring it here – keep the others from ingesting it, and find out who had what. Adrianne, go look through the stables. Check for mold, mushrooms, blood, anything that could have infected her.”

All three nodded mutely and turned to leave, but Elizabeth grabbed Adrianne and handed her a shawl from her small bag of possessions. “Wrap this around your head to cover your nose and mouth. I don’t want you breathing in anything nasty out there.”

“What do you want me to do?” Rosabel asked.

Elizabeth knelt beside the bed and lifted Isolde’s arm. She had another shawl in her hand and tied it deftly, with a knot she’d never seen before, around Isolde’s upper arm. “I need you to slowly pull these ends apart.” Rosabel gingerly took the ties and did as she said. “You were with her. What has she done?” She asked as she took her pulse.

“Well, I started talking to her in the stables – I startled her, do you think she jumped and scratched herself? And then Halt made us come inside, and we hung out in the hall talking with you and Gilan about wood and then she had some coffee and we took the tour.”

“I saw several other people drinking coffee, why was she the one who got sick?”

“Oh,” Rosabel said, eyes widening. “I opened a new jar of honey.”

“Mad honey,” Elizabeth breathed. “It fits. 30 minutes or so for the onset, and the symptoms match. Her pulse is weak, her breathing shallow, she’s clammy, and – quick, help me roll her onto her left side!” She ordered.

Crissa came in with the honey, tumbler, and coffee then, dumping it on her bed to hurry over and help Rosabel with Isolde while Elizabeth rummaged through her pack. “What’s going on? Is Isolde okay?”

“What in Gorlog’s name is going on in here?” Halt interrupted, voice a low growl of concern.

“Mad honey,” Elizabeth answered shortly.

Halt glanced at the bed, where the jar was sitting quite innocently beside Isolde’s empty cup, and then gave a short nod. “I understand. What are you giving her?”

“Poppy. Crissa, can you fetch some hot water? I need to brew some tea; it’ll help with the convulsions.”

Rosabel finished maneuvering Isolde into a comfortable position on her side – she’d stirred, but hadn’t spoken – and sat back. “This is my fault,” She said.

“No, it’s not, and she’s going to be alright. I don’t have time to comfort you, and you won’t want to be in here for this. Please go out into the hall and ask the knights for a hug. I’m positive one or more will oblige. Halt, can you help me with this? She could start to convulse any minute, and I’m not strong enough to keep her from falling off the bed on my own.”

Though she’d meant to protest, Rosabel found her feet carrying her to the doorway. Annabel was gone, and the hum of voices from down the corridor suggested they’d elected not to crowd around the doorway. She made it to the common room, by some miracle, and silence fell when she reached the threshold.

“Any news?” asked someone who had to be Eugene.

“Yeah,” Rosabel said. “Elizabeth and Halt know what’s wrong. She ought to be fine.”

“Oh, thank heavens,” he breathed. There was a pause where everyone seemed to take a deep breath, and then another, until the tension in the room bled out. Eugene looked up finally. “What is wrong, did they tell you?”

She frowned and thought back. “Something called mad honey? Apparently it was in the honey I gave her for her coffee.”

“It’s a poison,” Jonathan said. “Bees use poisonous plants’ nectar to make honey and it turns the honey toxic. Children still die from it sometimes in the north, near the bogs. I can’t imagine how a bottle got here in northern Seacliff, though.”

Will was frowning now. “Didn’t Elizabeth say she’d never seen a jar like it? And she’s local.”

“Maybe someone bought it from a merchant,” One of the knights, who’d elbowed the one called Kori, shrugged.

“That’s probably it,” Horace agreed. “Are you alright, Rosabel?”

“Elizabeth says she’s supposed to ask for a hug, physician’s orders,” Adrianne said from the doorway.

Rosabel spun around to glare at her. “She’s not a physician,” She grumbled, “She can’t order me about.”

The spiky-haired knight, Tristan, clasped her in a bear hug. “You alright?” He murmured, his breathed stirring the hair by her ear.

“Um,” She said, quite eloquently.

“Oh, are we having a group hug?” Crissa said. “Excellent!”

Bodies crowded in around Rosabel, and then a foot hit her ankle and she lost balance, crashing into Maximillian, who bumped into Kori, who landed in sprawling heap on Will, and finally they were just one awkward pile of bruised joints and pinned limbs. “This is why we don’t do group hugs,” Rosabel grumbled.

“What are you – I’m not even going to ask,” Halt broke off and shook his head. “Isolde is stable and sleeping. Elizabeth thinks she’ll be back on her feet in three days, and an actual physician is on his way to check on her.”

“Help,” Will said piteously, dramatically stretching out his hand from under a pile of apprentices.

Rosabel rolled off of Tristan (“Ow!” “Sorry, sharp hipbones.” “That was your _hip_?”) and delicately climbed to her feet. “No one move, I don’t want to trip.” She made it out of the common room without incident, and followed Halt back down the hallway. “How did Elizabeth do that? How did the honey get here? It’s got to be northern honey. How do we keep it from happening again? Did she really have convulsions?”

“Are you aware I stopped listening after the first question?”

“Hey, don’t answer a question with a question,” She said. “Come on, Halt, call me paranoid, but—”

“Paranoid,” He interrupted drily.

She grinned. “Was that a joke? Nice. Seriously, though, Isolde’s alright?”

“She’s fine,” Halt said. “I’m glad you’re worried about your fellow apprentice, but if you ask me that again, I may have to throttle you with one of Elizabeth’s shawls.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that? She pulls them out of nowhere. Why did she bring shawls at all?”

“To wrap my glass bottles in,” Elizabeth rejoined. She was sticking her head out of the door, smiling faintly.

“Speaking of glass bottles,” said Rosabel, and crossed to Crissa’s bed to hold up the honey. “This jar. How did you know something was wrong?”

Elizabeth sighed. “I know all the beekeepers in Seacliff. None of them use a jar like that.”

“So where did it come from?” Rosabel asked.

“No idea.”

Halt watched the exchange, and Rosabel would have sworn that she saw suspicion in those grey eyes.


End file.
